By the Window
by Neeliep
Summary: Professor Snape clutched her tightly to his chest and gasped out a desperate plea: "Expecto Patronum". AU with Vampire!Snape. SSHG.
1. Interior with Lady

**Chapter 1: Interior With Lady**

The creaking of the staircases moving could barely be heard over the howling of a wind signalling the coming of a bitingly cold winter. It was as if the castle sensed the silent lull of sleeping wizards, and the stairs switched positions so slowly they might as well have been sleeping themselves. At two o'clock in the morning the Scottish fortress would have looked like a muggle photograph if it wasn't for the one lone teacher circling the hallways.

Professor Snape, unlike the school, marched swiftly through the ever-changing shadows cast by the many clouds drifting past the waning moon. The chill of the stones could not penetrate his many layered woollen robes, and his mind was blessedly blank. It was a good night. The air was clean and he had not been summoned from the grounds during the two weeks since the school year had begun. The professor's eyes searched the corners expertly, though automatically, for mischief makers, but there were none. Not one sound or sight out of place.

He heaved a sigh, and felt more at ease than he had for a long time. He was glad the year had begun. It was normal, routine and easy to control, unlike so many other occurrences lately. His alternative work situation could not be called idyllic or normal by any means.

As his steps were the only sound he could hear, Snape turned down one last corridor before preparing to head down to the dungeons. It was a narrow, old, mostly unused one, which ended by a small staircase leading past the library, and further down into the dungeons. He preferred it to the more conventional route past the Great Hall, as he didn't mind wandering the maze-like tunnels once he got below ground.

The smell hit him first. The sweet, bitter, heady odour of blood. Snape stopped cold in his tracks and drew his wand. His nostrils flared as he forced the air deep down into his lungs, leaving an unmistakable hint of flavour on his tongue. He stopped breathing and threw open the door leading onto the landing. In a pool of blood and upturned books lay a 7th year student, and Snape instantly kneeled by her head, lighting his wand in the process.

 _Miss Granger. Naturally._ With trembling, long, pale hands the Professor brushed her hair away from her neck and pressed them to her artery in search of a pulse. It was there, but weakened. _Thank Merlin._ The blood seemed to be coming from the back of her head, which must have hit the stairs as she went down. With effort Snape snatched his hand away from her neck and found the injury under her mass of hair. He meticulously avoided touching any blood as he hastily sealed the wound with a low-energy, low-concentration healing charm.

Then her head turned and she sighed slightly. The blood that mattered her hair smeared across his fingers and his breath left him with a _whoosh_.

"No!" he groaned as his fingers instantly tightened in her hair and his head lowered to loom inches from her own. Goosebumps erupted across his legs and up to the back of his neck. It had been so long...

Snape could not stop his teeth as they elongated and his over-sized, hooked nose as it nuzzled her chin on the way back towards her pumping veins. And just as his tongue lightly touched her sweaty skin, Hermione's eyes snapped open. After two long seconds of bewildered, unfocused eye contact, Professor Snape clutched her tightly to his chest and gasped out a desperate plea:

"Expecto Patronum".

Headmaster Dumbledore was snoring. Even in his sleep he was aware of that. It was a most irritating noise, which prevented him from falling into the pleasant dreams he wished he had. But even though it was a sound of his own making, he felt unable - or perhaps unwilling - to do anything about it. It would entail waking up, after all, and he sorely needed this rest after the week he had had. Meetings with Ministry Representatives never failed to bring him the most excruciating headaches.

The universe, however, did not seem to favour Dumbledore that night. He was suddenly jolted awake by a bright blue light, which took the form of a doe when he opened his eyes. _Ah, well._ He had fallen asleep in his office chair again. He should have known - snoring always did come with sleeping upright. The Headmaster took this in stride, however, for it was indeed not the first time he had woken up in such a position. He rightened his half-moon spectacles and peered over them at the doe. "Speak," he commanded it.

But the patronus did not speak. Instead it started hurriedly walking towards the door, turning to make sure the old man followed. Dumbledore sighed. _Well, there goes this night's sleep_ , he thought, and levered his aged body out of the chair. The doe's urgency made him anxious, and he had an inkling as to whom had sent it.

Shaking the sleep out of his head, he started down the revolving staircase with the patronus leading the way. As they moved past the gargoyle, Dumbledore started to jog. The patronus was slowly starting to fade, the light getting dimmer and dimmer as it moved ever faster, as if desperate to reach its destination before the potency of the spell ended. The Headmaster dreaded what he would find, and as he turned a corner by the library he imagined Professor Snape's body - beaten, bloody and lifeless - on the marble staircases. He quickened his already hurried stride into a dead run.

The doe did not head for the entrance hall, however, but continued into the corridor leading towards the library's main entrance, and promptly disappeared. Dumbledore knew Snape preferred this way down to the dungeons. Perhaps he had been attacked down there. Out of breath, his hair in disarray from sleeping and purple hat askew, the Headmaster threw open the doors leading onto the stairs, wand at a ready, and was met with one of the sights he feared the most, but never thought he'd see. His - secretly vampiric - potions teacher with a student in a pool of blood.

Dumbledore faltered, with a stupefy at the ready. "Severus," he gasped out, still short-breathed. The red light of the stunning spell pulsing at the wand-tip lit the landing eerily. Snape did not react. "Severus!" he commanded again, and to his relief he saw his employee lift his head excruciatingly slowly. Dumbledore blanched when his eyes met those of the potions master. They were cold, hard, desperate and obviously occluding. His whole frame was stock still and he was not breathing. "Take her," Snape bit out through clenched teeth, but his body made no outward sign towards releasing Hermione. The Headmaster tried to quickly think the situation through.

Of course, he needed to separate the two of them as fast as possible. But it was clear that Snape's control over his vampiric instincts were at a breaking point, and extracting Miss Granger from his vice like grip might push him over the limit. The smell of the blood on the floor was enough without stirring it up even more. He might try stunning Severus, as his first instinct had been, but a stunner at this close range… It could be fatal for a normal wizard. Though he didn't even have proof of stunners working on magical vampires.

Then, to make matters even worse, Hermione woke up. Still slightly disorientated, but sensing danger, she moaned and tried to break free of Snape's hold. The professor was lightening fast. He snarled and pushed her fully to the ground in but a heartbeat, and managed to quickly bite through her neck. Hermione screamed. At the same time, Dumbledore's stupefying charm left his wand and hit Professor Snape in the right shoulder.

Snape was thrown into the door leading to the main library corridor, slightly dazed. He could hear screaming in the distance, but only had eyes for the girl and the purity of her life. He wanted nothing more than to devour her. Growling, he lunged for her, but was met with yet another red blow from the wizard opposite him. "No!" Snape snarled, clawing at the ground where Hermione had rested only moments ago. The warlock had summoned her away from him, and as he was met with yet another stunner, Snape knew that his only chance to feed properly had slipped between his fingers.

The last thing he knew before drifting into the spell-induced sleep was an intense relief as he came to his senses.

Hermione felt very nauseous and dizzy. The whole room was spinning before her, shifting all the time. Her thoughts were jumbled and broken. _What happened?_ Flashes of long, sharp teeth, staircases, cold, hard stone and strong arms swam before her eyes, but she could make no sense of them. She was floating, she suddenly realised. _Mobilicorpus,_ her mind supplied. _But you can't use that spell on conscious people…_ She twisted to see who was transporting her, half expecting to see Professor Snape _._ Why, she didn't know.

It was Dumbledore. His steps were heavy and his robes wrinkled as he marched before her. They were currently in the Entrance Hall, heading towards the Hospital Wing, Hermione presumed. _Funny_ , she thought. _I don't remember hurting myself._ Then again, from the pictures and impressions she **did** remember, perhaps she had been attacked. Maybe there were Death Eaters in the castle. She tried alerting Professor Dumbledore to her consciousness. If there were strangers at Hogwarts Harry was in danger!

"Pro.." she croaked, but her throat would not function properly. She raised a shaking hand towards him and tried to grasp his cloak, but the gap was too large and she _hurt_. "Prof-esso-r D-Dumbled-ore…" she managed, hand still outreached. To her relief, the Headmaster answered, but did not turn around. "Just a little longer, Miss Granger".

Just as they reached the Infirmary, Dumbledore stopped, Hermione still floating behind him. He turned around in stead of venturing in, a troubled expression upon his face. His eyes studied her quietly for a moment before he quietly uttered "Is there anything you would like to tell me? Anything at all?"

Hermione got a little nervous. Had she done anything wrong? She could remember nothing clearly after heading towards her dormitory before curfew. She had obviously never reached Gryffindor Tower. "Sir," she began. "I… I think I m-might have fallen. Or perhaps somebody pushed me… I don't know!" She answered, on the verge of tears. "Was I… Was I attacked, sir? What about Harry and Ron? Is anyone hurt?" Her voice took on a slightly panicked edge, and she started to move about restlessly, trying to get down. What was this spell?

Dumbledore held up a hand, and Hermione stilled. He seemed so expectant and searching, but not like there was any major crisis. "Do not worry yourself, Miss Granger," he told her. "No harm has come to your friends, or any other student at all". Hermione did not like the way he said that. There was something about his tone of voice, even though the words were somewhat reassuring. _Any students, he said. What about faculty?_ An image suddenly struck her.

"Sir! What about Professor Snape?" She was certain now that it was _his_ eyes she could remember from before - his hands in her hair, healing her. Why wasn't he the one bringing her to Madam Pomfrey? Had he been attacked as well?

"What _about_ Professor Snape, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore inquired insistingly, and rather sharply. How odd.

"Well… He was there, wasn't he, sir? Is he all right?" The headmaster seemed to relax somewhat, for he smiled at her at last. "I am sure he will be perfectly fine. Now, let's get you into a bed, shall we?" He started humming as he entered the Infirmary with Hermione in tow and lowered her onto a bed by the far wall.

Staring up at the ceiling, Hermione watched the shadow play of the clouds move by the stained glass window. Dumbledore had wandered off to wake the matron, and she focused on her injuries. She was hurting somewhat, though the nausea had faded. She was still a bit dizzy, though. There was also some sort of strange sensation in her neck, besides an overall soreness. The sharp feeling in her neck somehow seemed to spread down her arms and into her torso. _A hex?_ she wondered, at a loss as to what else it could be. It was trickling along slowly, though, so Madam Pomfrey should be able to stop it in time. She hoped. Would its full effects take her over when it reached her heart, or when her whole body was filled with it?

Hermione tried breathing slowly as to not speed it up. If it spread with her blood flow - she wasn't quite sure, but it did seem to be connected to her artery somehow - then a rushing pulse would definitely not help. She lifted her hand slowly to feel the injured area, and was dismayed to find that she was still a bit numb. She couldn't really feel what was wrong. There was something, though…

"Ah! Oh, my God! Ok, Hermione, don't panic! Oh God…!" She looked at the blood coating her fingers, its colour dark in the moonlight. What kind of hex left such a physical wound at the same time as spreading inwards? What if it was some sort of acid melting her on the inside as well?!

"No, don't think about it. Do not think about that! Madam Pomfrey will fix this. She has to. If she can regrow Harry's bones she can definitely cure this." She tried talking some sense into herself, but Hermione couldn't help thinking that melted internal organs were somewhat graver than missing bones.

Only seconds later the mediwitch in question bustled into the infirmary in full uniform. She tutted as she reached Hermione's side, and went directly for the wound. "Oh dear, oh dear," she muttered under her breath, waving her wand over the injured spot. Dumbledore stopped at the foot of the bed for a moment, and stroked his beard deep in thought as Madam Pomfrey fretted over Hermione.

"Not to worry, Miss Granger. Madam Promfrey will patch you up in no time at all. You will be good as new," he smiled at her at last, ignoring the sharp look the mediwitch threw him, as he proceeded to exit the Hospital Wing.

"Well, now!" the matron said to Hermione as she finished examining her. "There's not much to do about the wounds, but-"

"Wounds?! Are there more than one?" Hermione interrupted in a small voice. Pomfrey nodded grimly.

"Oh yes, but as I said, there's virtually nothing to do about them. I'll just seal them up and then… Well, we'll see, won't we…" The last part was muttered quietly, and did not make Hermione feel better at all. Pomfrey quickly healed her neck and gave Hermione a potion for the many bruises and the few cuts on her body.

"Is it a hex, then, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked fearfully.

"Hmm, not as such, no. Well, in a sense I suppose you could say… No, no. Not to worry, Miss Granger, this will sort itself out. You just rest, now, it's quite late. Go to sleep!" How one was supposed to go to sleep to such a vague and worrying answer, Hermione didn't know, but after Madam Pomfrey took her leave it didn't take long before the passing clouds lulled her into a deep, healing slumber.

When Snape came back to his senses the first thing he felt was the cold stone underneath him. As he surveyed his surroundings further and remembered what had brought him here, he felt a pang of extreme guilt and shame at what had occurred. His robes were smeared with dried, odourless blood - Dumbledore must have removed the scent - and he was in one of the prison cells in the dungeons. It was very dark, but Snape had no trouble seeing. It was a small room with green moss covering the stone walls in scattered places, with no furniture. The ceiling was high and he could see rusty marks where shackles and other metal objects had been attached to the surfaces. Some hooks were still there.

Snape hung his head and fisted his hands in his long, greasy hair. Even that had traces of blood in it, where the tips had swept over her deliciously curved neck after his bite. _Merlin,_ he inwardly groaned. He had accosted a student. He had drunk her lifeblood. The implications hit him like a hard blow to the face. _That student._ He groaned again, audibly this time. His chest hurt from the stunners, but he was glad for the punishment. He richly deserved being down here. Of course, he would be sacked now. Perhaps even executed. Perhaps it was for the best.

Snape stood and cradled his head for a long time. His mind was full of images of a little, innocent 11-year old girl with bushy hair and large front teeth, laying dead in a pool of blood, murdered at his hand; and an almost grown woman with beautiful thick hair and perfect, rosy lips offering herself to him. He could not seem to separate the images, yet they would not combine. He tried to cling to the little girl, but the memory of her womanly curves pressed into him on the floor came unbidden. Where it earlier had been overshadowed by the need to drink her blood, the physical closeness overwhelmed him now.

Snape could not remember the last time someone had touched him, or he had touched anyone else, for that matter, other than to separate students in dark corners or fighting in the corridors. Especially a woman - girl. _Lily…_ Had she been the last one? 22 years… Again, the feeling of Miss Granger's breasts pressed to his chest rose up in his mind, and he snapped.

" _No!_ " Snape whirled and slammed his clenched fist into the wall behind him. His blood trickling down the stones made him forget the scene a little, so he hit again. And again. And again. Until he finally sank down onto the floor, exhausted.

That was how Dumbledore found him when he ventured down early in the morning the next day.

"Are you awake?"

Snape did not look at him, but kept his head lowered. "What is it to be, Headmaster? Dementor's Kiss? Or am I to be staked and burnt?"

"It is extraordinary to see how you are so willing to offer up your life now, as you fought so hard for it but a few hours ago." Snape offered no reply. The headmaster sighed. "What exactly happened?" he asked in a world-weary voice, and transfigured his hat into a plush, comfortable-looking armchair in Gryffindor colours before he sat down.

Snape got to his feet and begun pacing in the limited space. He did not have his wand on him - not that he expected Dumbledore to be that careless. "You were there, Dumbledore," he snarled. "I do not believe an explanation is necessary". The headmaster just looked solemnly at him over the ridge of his half-moon glasses. Snape threw his hands up in the air, defeated and exasperated. He knew that look.

"I was finishing up my rounds, and when I got to the staircase I found Miss Granger laying there. I healed her head and was about to bring her to the Hospital Wing when she turned and smeared her… blood… all over my hand. So I called you. That's all there is to it," he finished with vigour, and finally stopped pacing. His feet were planted in a broad, defensive stance, and he folded his arms severely.

None of them mentioned that Snape had not been on patrol duty that night.

Dumbledore finally sighed. "I must say, Severus, that I had hoped to avoid an incident such as this. But, Miss Granger doesn't remember much, and it is possible that she will not put the pieces together."

Snape snorted. "Granger? If there is a secret or mystery or simply a question she doesn't know the answer to within two feet of her, she is at its tail like a hound hunting down a fox."

The old man folded his hands quietly and hummed noncommittally. "Severus, I must ask you. You did not set out to meet with the girl?" The question received him a glare from his employee.

"No, headmaster, I certainly did not. Have you so little faith in me?" Snape fisted his hands where they were crossed tightly over his chest.

Dumbledore continued watching him for a little while, but finally relented. "Very well. We shall not speak of this night again, if it isn't strictly necessary. No one must know," he said sharply. "But I shall be watching you, Severus, make no mistake of that. Watching you very closely indeed."


	2. Break for Morning

**Chapter 2: Break For Morning**

When Hermione opened her eyes the next morning, she felt back to normal. Therefore it took her a minute to remember where she was, and when she realised it was the infirmary, why she was there. Her left hand went automatically to her neck to feel the wounds, but her fingers met only smooth skin. She sighed in relief and gave the spot a rub with her hand. It sort of tingled a bit, but otherwise felt fine. _Thank God Madam Pomfrey managed to heal me_ , Hermione thought. She had a feeling it had been just in time, but that might be her fear talking. The matron had obviously known what to do.

As she carefully sat up in bed, her right wrist ached slightly, but otherwise she felt fine. It was then that Hermione noticed her school uniform, meticulously washed and folded, on her bedside table, and her school satchel, brimming with her course books, resting on the floor next to it. Most curiously there was an envelope lying neatly on top of her stack of clothes. When she picked it up, she saw that it was addressed to her from the headmaster.

Nervously she opened the envelope and read the paper concealed inside. The note advised her not to speak of the incident which had landed her in the hospital wing to anyone. No permanent harm had come to her, after all, and the investigation into the possible attack was best kept secret, it read, for the good of the cause.

Hermione pondered the message for a minute, along with the strange behaviour she sensed in Professor Dumbledore that night. When the clock struck seven thirty, however, she shook the thoughts off, pocketed the note, and set about getting ready for a new day.

The Great Hall bustled with activity, the noise of over eight hundred wizards chatting and eating breakfast almost deafening Hermione as she entered through the tall wooden doors. It was a completely regular morning, but she thought the sky looked especially bright, and the clouds even whiter than normal. Hoisting her book bag higher up on her shoulder, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor table, searching for a familiar face. Ah, there was Neville eating vigorously. Her smile widened as she approached him.

"Good morning, Neville," she greeted him happily as she sat down at an empty seat beside him.

"Didn't you meet Harry and Ron in the common room?" Neville asked her, a confused wrinkle appearing on his forehead, whilst filling his plate with more toast and eggs. "They said they were going to wait for you to come down".

Hermione fiddled with the note in her pocket.

"That's odd," Hermione answered. "I didn't see them, no. But I did go to the library to check out a book on advanced extention charms, so maybe I left before you all came down". She sort of lied. Her smile didn't weaver. She had, after all, checked out such a book last night.

After a few minutes Harry and Ron joined them at the table, irritation over their long wait dampened as soon as they saw the food. The conversation ranged from quidditch (as always) to Honeydukes' latest batch of some odd-flavoured chocolate and so on, until it was time for the first class of the day.

The start of the day passed without incident, and Hermione looked to the world no different from any other day. She was active during classes, precise in her incantations and calculations. She read her textbooks obediently, and drew no attention to herself at all. No one seemed to be aware of her accident — not her fellow students, not her teachers.

Hermione herself though, could not forget it. The flashes of memories, clouded and unfocused, confusing and terribly frightening. Professor Dumbledore's seemingly reassuring words did nothing to still her growing unease. As the hours dragged on, the more she tried to calm herself. The more she was unsuccessful.

By lunchtime she was able to discern a factor in her fretting. Professor Snape had not been to breakfast, and he didn't seem to be appearing for luncheon either. She remembered her questions regarding the Potions Master the night before, and Dumbledore's puzzling reaction. Luckily, the next class was Potions, so she would be able to see for herself if he was injured.

Her appetite wasn't up to its usual standard, and she passed most of the meal mulling over the questions in her mind, reliving the night, trying to twist some sense into the memories. Her friends' conversations were forgotten and ignored as she thought hard. Harry and Ron knew the look on her face well, and were wise enough to leave her alone.

As the break dragged on, however, it became clear to Hermione that she was not going to be able to understand what had happened to her by simply revisiting the confusing memory over and over. She needed to find a way to see them objectively and with a mind unclouded by emotions. _A Pensieve_ , Hermione suddenly realised, _is just what I need._

But before she was able to linger on that thought, it was time to head down for Potions class.

Professor Snape's insides were burning. In the pit of his stomach there were two drops of precious liquid torturing him to no end. His sat limp in his office chair, an untouched sheet of parchment placed before him, a quill in his hand, both forgotten to his wandering mind.

He didn't know if he could do it. Pretend nothing was amiss. Teach her, after what had happened. One thing was to look at her and feel what she could do to him, but worse was knowing what he already had done to her, and what he could yet do.

He probably _would_ do something to her, he thought miserably. There was a reason why surviving vampire victims were so few, after all. How could he stand looking down upon her whilst she puttered around with her cauldron in his classroom, after he had violated her?

 _No_ , he snorted. _Miss Granger doesn't putter around with anything._ He thought about the shape of her brow when she concentrated — when she had a _goal_. Her goals, he realised with a pained snarl, her ambitions, her future and her destiny, would all be altered now.

The quill snapped in his hand, the feathers rumpled as they fluttered towards the floor.

Snape forcefully threw the broken pieces remaining in his hand towards the fireplace, and nearly upended his chair when he surged to his feet. The wooden legs of the chair made a screeching noise against the worn stone floor. The potions master started pacing again, for the hundredth time since the _incident_.

In the end he decided to brew a potion before his first class of the day, in order to get his mind off the girl.

It almost worked.

The class only saw him sweep through the door in one of his many infamous bad moods, steps sure and robes flaring. No one ever knew of the steadying breaths he'd treated himself to moments before, or the Calming Draught he had downed in replacement of lunch. He stalked up the length of the dimly lit classroom, and turned on his heel with an impressing snap of his cloak when he reached the front. His face did not betray the fact of his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He dared not look at her yet, but his body was alarmingly aware of her presence. The very hairs on his arms seemed to be directed towards her, like she was a magnet and he a resisting piece of metal.

As the roiling in his stomach settled a little, he finally dared glance her way.

There she was, with her large, innocent eyes and intoxicating blood. Her hair reflected beautifully the light from the many candles, and he fisted his hands in his robes to keep them from reaching for her.

 _She didn't know! She didn't remember_ , he suddenly realised. Of course, Dumbledore had told him so last night, but he had never truly believed it until now. Until looking into her eyes and seeing not fear but, _Oh Merlin_ , compassion and concern.

This was the worst, he decided right then. Having her trust him, sit in his classroom like he had any right to authority over her, whilst knowing what he had done, that he was wholly undeserving of any emotion but disgust and loathing from her. Having operated as a double agent for years, Professor Snape knew what it was like to be untrustworthy and deceiving, but this was a feeling he was at once familiar with and new to. This was guilt like he hadn't known since _her_. Since _Lily_. A sharp pain in his chest caused him to look away, force his mind to the closest object of safety. There, the Longbottom boy sitting beside her.

"Longbottom!" he all but shouted. A bit too loud perhaps, as the entire class jumped in their seats. But then again, they would only think that was his intention all along. "You have failed to acquire a single salamander, I see. I will not tolerate your lazy behaviour in this class any longer. Detention!"

And the class begun as usual.

Settling in her usual seat five minutes before the start of class, Hermione's unease grew. She couldn't wait to see him, to make sure he was all right, but still… Still she couldn't shake the trepidation that came with seeing him again. Her last recollection of the night, before Dumbledore, was Snape's eyes. His hands. She felt as though there were so many things she didn't understand, and she was afraid that as a consequence she would say something wrong. Do something he wouldn't approve of.

Would he want her to thank him for healing her? Would he rather she pretended it didn't happen? She was desperate to see if he was injured as well, but didn't think he would appreciate her concern.

Somehow her hands managed to set up her work station. Parchment and quill. Cauldron and burner. Her ingredients kit safely locked at the end of the work table, her potions text on top of it. For the life of her she couldn't remember which potion was next on their syllable. Snape might have changed it anyway. He often did.

When there was no more for her to do, she sat down on her hands. She was biting her lip again, worrying, when a loud _BANG!_ signalled the teacher's entrance. Her eyes went immediately to his billowing form, searching for anything out of the ordinary, but she was relieved to detect no limp, no outward sign of any pain. When he turned around at his desk, she carefully studied his face. He was glowering at the students before him. Nothing different from any of his other classes.

Then he swung his head around and looked directly into her eyes. _Oh!_ Hermione's breath left her lungs in a deep sigh, and she felt lightheaded. She had to grab the seat of her chair to stay in place. There was something there, in his deep, deep eyes which called to her.

She was transported back to the previous night, her entire world seemed focused upon his hypnotising, black orbs. Time slowed down, and the silent dread of the other students became a loud buzzing in her ears.

Then Snape broke the eye contact. He shouted at Neville, who was quivering in his seat beside her.

They could only have looked at each other for a second or two, but Hermione felt breathless and frightened. What was this magic? She felt tears start to form in her eyes, and furiously blinked them away. Something was definitely wrong with her. She shouldn't react like that to merely looking at her professor.

She was so confused. _What happened?_ Her mind screamed at her. _What happened to me?_

But she kept her head down for the rest of the class. She brewed her potion. Later she wouldn't recall which one. It slightly looked off, somehow, which must have been a product of her shaking hands not managing to measure or add the ingredients in precise enough amounts.

As she finished, and Snape, seated at his desk, called for their potions to be left labeled at their desks, Hermione fought an internal battle. Should she leave without addressing him, or walk up to him and thank him for saving her life? The decent thing to do, the Gryffindor thing to do, she knew, was to thank him. But her reaction to him frightened her. And he didn't seem to be acting any differently from before. Of course he wouldn't, she thought, but still he looked so forbidding approaching him didn't seem like a pleasant endeavour.

She gathered her courage like a cloak around her shoulders, and were rounding her desk as the other students piled out of the classroom. She didn't reach him though, for Snape shot out of his seat and stalked through to his office. The door slammed shut behind him.

Feeling at the same time disappoited and relieved, Hermione had no choice but to leave the dungeons. As she proceeded to trudge towards Transfigurations, her last class of the day, Hermione was still disoriented and confused. Meeting up with Ron and Harry, who had left Potions before her, in the Entrance Hall, she tried to snap herself out of it and act normally, but the image of Professor Snape's eyes never released her completely.

 _This is torture_ , Snape thought. Coming from one who had experienced his share of pain, that was saying something. He was pressed against his office door, smelling her scent through the wood and listening to her footsteps slowly leaving his classroom. As the door shut behind her, Snape quickly crossed to the shelf acting as his liqueur cabinet — bottles stowed away in the shadow behind some dirty jars of potions ingredients — and downed a long swig of Ogden's finest.

The alcohol burned all the way down into his stomach, and settled like a swarm of bees. At least it numbed some of his blood-thirstiness, he thought ironically, and swallowed another mouthful.

He had been careful, so very careful, to avoid scenarios such as this. He did not want to become another _Lupin_ , but that was presicely what had happened. Even worse, in fact. This was no once-a-month transformation to be fixed with a potion and a night in the Shrieking Shack.

Even so, he had made it through the first encounter. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He would just keep avoiding her. She only had one year left at Hogwarts, and Potions only two double lessons twice a week. _Fucking hell!_ Two hours twice a week for a year he would have to resist her lure, and he wasn't entirely sure he could do it.

To be honest he had no idea if contact would strengthen his blood lust or weaken it. Either it would be easier to resist her with each time he was exposed to her, or he would desire her more and more.

Very limited amount of study had been conducted on this type of bond, for several reasons. Most vampires have no qualms about attacking the victim again, and as such the durance of the connection tends to be cut rather short. In addition, vampires themselves are generally rather private and a blood bond is an extremely personal and intimate affair. Prying outsiders are not welcome.

This sentiment was something Snape shared wholeheartedly. Still, he understood the need for extensive study, if he should be able to withstand the pull. He would have to research himself. He sneered at the thought. Perhaps, though, if he was able to find out what caused the blood thirst, he would be able to create a relief cure. Something similar to the Wolfsbane perhaps. It was far fetched, but Snape could see no other option.

With renewed resolve, Snape strode into his quarters to begin his new project.

Later that evening, Hermione was reclining on her bed in the 7th year Gryffindor girl's dorm room. She was alone, save for poor, dear Eloise Midgen, who had gone to sleep already. Eloise reminded her of a female Neville, in a way, or perhaps herself if she had not found friends in Harry and Ron. She knew Eloise had some contact with Hannah Abbot and her friends, but in Gryffindor she was mostly left alone. Hermione tried her best to be nice to her, but the truth was that she was interested in all sorts of things which Hermione thought completely boring, and their personalities were simply too different.

Listening to the other girl's soft snores, Hermione again pondered her predicament. During the course of the evening she had decided two things: she would approach Snape in the morning, thanking him for saving her, and perhaps, _maybe maybe_ , he would explain to her what had really happened. If not, she would have to get a hold of a pensieve and sort it out herself.

Of course, she knew the easiest solution to that was to simply ask Professor Dumbledore if she could borrow his, but after he had practically commanded her to forget about the incident completely, she doubted he would take kindly to her idea. She didn't know of any other pensieves in the castle, though, so she would either have to buy one or make one for herself. Both options were disheartening, and would probably cost her more than what her Gringotts vault currently held. In addition it would take up so much of her time which should be spent studying for her N.E.W.T.s and reseraching her obligatory independent study.

 _Unless!_ Hermione thought, sitting up suddenly in her bed as an idea formed in her head. The independent study the 7th year students were supposed to take on consisted of both theoretical and practical work. Initially she had wanted to create a new charm or transfiguration spell for allowing the subject to retain their human mind whilst in animal form. This was different from an animagus transformation in that it could be cast by someone other than the subject itself. But this! This was perfect!

The creation of a pensieve was not common knowledge, it was educative, and combined many magical diciplines such as runes, potions and charms. Even history of magic. And there were certainly aspects she could try to improve, such as the user retaining an awareness of the outside world whilst in the pensieve. Giggling with glee, Hermione bounced excitedly on her bed. Absolutely perfect.

But she would still approach Professor Snape in the morning. The pensieve wouldn't be finished for months anyway, and she was anxious to know what had happened to her.

Finally content that she at least had a plan, Hermione got ready for bed. She needed to be well rested for her morning appointment.


End file.
